Greed
by Delilah's Soliloquy
Summary: Part 2 of the "Seven Deadly Sins" series. For some, everything is never enough.
1. Only the Best

_Hi, everyone! I'm back with the second installment of the Seven Deadly Sins series: Greed._

_Before we begin, let's explore the concept. Greed doesn't just mean eating too much at dinner, stuffing your face with sweets or hoarding money. Greed, or avarice, is the "inordinate desire to possess wealth, goods, or objects of abstract value with the intention to keep it for one's self, far beyond the dictates of basic survival and comfort" (thank you, Wikipedia). So any obsession with the possession of something-anything, really-can be categorized as greed if it exists in sufficient amounts. In the spirit of this definition, we shall now embark on a journey with three characters who I believe fulfill these requirements. Keep in mind that there are certainly other characters that exemplify greed at different points in the series, but these three made for especially good stories. _

_Illustrating my first interpretation of greed is none other than the original James Potter. Enjoy!_

* * *

Only the Best

The library was filled with students' whispers, like the buzzing of moths on a summer night. "Why are we here?" groaned Sirius, looking around in disbelief. "We could be nicking pies from the kitchens, or jinxing Bertram Aubrey's head to expand, or…Prongs?"

James Potter looked up from the Transfiguration essay he claimed to be working on, but had not even touched in nearly twenty minutes. He, too, could think of much better places to pass the time than the library. Peter, too, looked bored; indeed, only Remus looked at home, poring over a dusty old book with great interest James was sure was genuine.

A surreptitious glance across the room made James' decision for him. "You lot go on," he said, hoping he sounded convincing. "I'll catch you up by the kitchens in ten minutes…just want to finish this essay for McGonagall…"

Looking supremely unconvinced but nonetheless grateful for a reprieve from the stuffy library, Sirius gave James a mock salute, turned on his heel and bounded out of the library in almost indecent haste, like a prisoner recently set free, with Peter at his heels and Remus—nose still buried in his book—following almost reluctantly.

James bowed his head over his essay again but almost immediately raised his eyes to the pair sitting two tables away. Snape and Evans, their heads close together as they whispered back and forth. Lily smiled; apparently, something Snape had said had amused her.

James scowled. Lily Evans was pretty, she was popular, she was vivacious…in short, she was the sort of girl who should be sitting with James, laughing at _his_ jokes.

"Humph," scoffed James, dismissing her poor judgment. He almost felt sorry for Evans. He scorned the idea of being jealous of Snape; it was positively beneath him. Jealousy implied that he was an equal, a real _rival_…and that, really, was just ridiculous.

But James was accustomed to having the best. His parents had always told him how special he was, how he deserved the very best of everything. Why would they say it if it wasn't true? He'd never had cause to disbelieve them before.

Lily Evans was the very best. As such, James Potter was determined to win her.

A giggle jolted James out of his reverie. Lily was laughing again, stifling her giggles behind her hand as Madam Pince shushed her ill-naturedly.

"Sorry, Madam Pince," whispered Lily, her barely-concealed grin somewhat undermining her penitent tone. Snape busied himself with writing in what appeared to be his Potions book, for some unknown reason; James suspected it was to keep him from laughing at the librarian's indignation at the mere idea of a student daring to laugh in her library.

James felt strange. It was a feeling he'd never experienced properly before. For the first time in his life, he wanted something that he could not have.

Lily looked up; her startling green eyes met James' hazel ones. "What d'you want, Potter?" she asked in as loud a voice as she dared. Her gaze was untrusting, almost accusatory, yet it wasn't nearly as cold as the glare Snape was fixing him with from beside her, so perhaps there was hope…

"Hey, Evans," he called back softly, figuring he might as well have a go. "Want to go out with me?"

Lily looked mildly revolted; Snape, positively alarmed. "No," replied Lily in a tone usually reserved for the very dim, as though the answer was blatantly obvious.

James, however, was unruffled. He'd never failed to get what he wanted in the past, be it a red balloon or that state-of-the-art racing broom, and, by Merlin, he wasn't going to fail this time. He laid down his quill and leaned in closer.

"Aw, come on, you know you'll enjoy it…"

Arranging her lovely features into an expression of utter disgust, Lily scooped up her books and swept past James out of the library. Snape gave James one last look of contempt before grabbing his textbook—even from a distance, James could see he'd completely filled the margins with some useless nonsense or other—and followed Lily out the door.

James sighed in frustration. This was but a minor setback, that's all. He didn't discourage easily; he dwelled on Lily like a starving man dwells on food. His longing for her wasn't just infatuation or lust; it was a hunger, a real _need_ that had to be filled. Sooner or later, Lily would come to her senses and realize that they were meant to be. After all, he was James Potter—didn't Lily Evans, the gem of Gryffindor, also deserve the best?

* * *

_Your thoughts? I hope you enjoyed it. I'm hoping I can update soon, but between work, grad school and wedding planning, time is scarce._

_Reviewing is always appreciated!_

_Yours, _

_Delilah_


	2. Obsession

_Hi, Readers! Though I haven't updates in ages, it's not because I've given up or forgotten you. Actually, I've been extremely busy with wedding preparations (on top of my usual work and grad school stuff), because (which I still can't fully believe) the wedding that seemed so far away last year is next Saturday! So I decided that, while I have a free minute or two, I'd send you an update to let you know I'm alive and well and still writing._

_Remember what we said about greed in the last chapter? It signifies an "inordinate desire to possess wealth, goods, or objects of abstract value with the intention to keep it for one's self, far beyond the dictates of basic survival and comfort." The subject of this chapter, Lord Voldemort, personifies these qualities in a most pathological manner. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: This chapter uses bits of actual dialogue from _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. Anything you recognize probably belongs to J.K. Rowling and not me. _

* * *

Obsession

The one weapon that could vanquish Harry Potter for good. The Elder Wand. And it would be his.

"Who was the thief, Gregorovitch?" he hissed. The wandmaker's face darkened as the blood rushed into his head. Hanging upside down, his bushy white beard slightly obstructed his view of the murderous figure—for he could scarcely be called a _man_, this one—before him.

"I know not, I know not! It was years ago—a young man—" Gregorovitch pleaded in stilted English, wondering how he could have been so stupid as to brag of possessing the world's most dangerous wand. Shouldn't he have known that psychopaths like this would be inevitably drawn to its legendary power?

Unsatisfied, refusing to be thwarted, the Dark Lord set out on his way. He had ways of discovering who the merry-faced thief was, and soon the Elder Wand would be his, and Potter would be no more.

* * *

The lonely cell was dark and chill, and largely empty. It seems the old man who had once been the world's most powerful Dark wizard now had little to call his own, outside of a pallet bed outfitted in rags.

_So close…so close…_

Grindelwald laughed; the sound baited Voldemort, for he had known that Grindelwald wouldn't have the wand anymore, anyway—who in their right mind would cart him off to Nurmengard, immure him in his own prison and yet allow him to keep the wand that had caused so much destruction? No, he had to know where it was now, and he wasn't about to let a frail old has-been stop him from obtaining that what he desired.

"Your journey was pointless. I never had it."

_What? The audacity of the man, to try and deceive Lord Voldemort, the greatest Legilimens the world has ever seen!_ "You lie!" he screeched, feeling the wand slipping through his metaphorical fingers even as the words left his lips.

"You will not win, you cannot win! The wand will never, ever be yours!"

Never? How mistaken he was, the stupid old man! It would, it _must_ be his. He would not stop until the Elder Wand was his alone. And he knew, now, where it must be. The wizard who had defeated Grindelwald at the height of his power was legend, and his current whereabouts were no mystery. Barely containing his fury, his longing for the wand intensifying with every minute that it wasn't in his possession, Voldemort turned to the sliver of a window in the black stone walls.

* * *

Here he was, beside the still waters of the black lake, the white tomb whose smooth marble was an unwelcome addition to the landscape of his beloved Hogwarts. The Dark Lord smiled, triumph building within him as he raised his old familiar wand in a fitting finale to a lifetime of great undertakings.

In death, Dumbledore looked very much like he had in life. A fossil. Weak. Trusting. He even had those damned spectacles on his crooked nose. On his chest, beneath his clasped, wizened hands, lay the thing Voldemort desired most.

_At last!_ The sense of finally gaining what he had sought for so long, of finally achieving his goal, produced a feeling of euphoria unmatched by anything the Dark Lord had felt in a long time. As if the supposed sanctity of the old fool's tomb could keep Lord Voldemort from the Elder Wand! It was his at last, his to do as he wished, and now none could defeat him.

* * *

The Dark Lord gazed at the wand between his fingers. It had failed to live up to his expectations, and this perturbed him. He could not allow it to be like this. If he would be all-powerful, sacrifices would have to be made.

"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?"

Snape remained silent for a moment, perhaps sensing that he was in danger, perhaps merely at a loss for words. At last, he seemed to find his voice.

"My—my Lord? I do not understand."

_I'm sure you don't. _

"You—you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."

_And this is surprising to you? All of my magic is extraordinary. _"I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago. No difference." Lord Voldemort's need to possess not only the wand, but the enormity of its incredible power trumped all at the moment. Even Potter could wait until this last great matter was settled.

"My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But—let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can—"

_Listen to him…begging for his life, just like he'd begged for the life of that miserable Mudblood when he was little more than a child. They're all the same, in the end. Weak. Clinging to their meaningless lives as if it makes a difference._

"You have been a good and faithful servant, Severus, and I regret what must happen."

_Though I regret not being the Wand's true master more. I regret that Potter is still alive, though I've repeatedly tried to kill him. and I regret that, after all these years, you do not realize what is due to your master, and that nothing matters more than eliminating Potter at last, at any cost._ He didn't understand why Snape would find this so difficult. He had killed the greatest wizard (well, _second_ greatest) in the world, had presented him to his master like an offering of tribute. Why should one final sacrifice be such a burden to one who'd already given his life in service to the Dark Lord? Nothing mattered more.

Snape's face was frozen in shock, or perhaps terror. His eyes grew wide and the color drained from his face as the Dark Lord made his intentions perfectly clear and sent Nagini after her prey. _It shall be wholly mine at last_.

Feeling a sense of triumph as complete as any, a sense of greed fully rewarded, Lord Voldemort stepped past the trembling body of his servant, who was trying in vain to staunch the great flow of blood from the wound at his neck, even as the life ebbed out of him. "I regret it," Voldemort said by way of farewell, even as he filled with euphoria.

As he stepped out into the crisp evening air, Voldemort smiled in satisfaction. The Elder Wand was his now, undoubtedly. It must now serve him as the legends had promised. He would be invincible. All he needed now was the death of Potter, which would surely soon follow, and his victory would be complete.

* * *

_I hope you enjoyed my interpretation of greed, as illustrated by Voldie himself. If there's any of my CWP readers out there, I hope to update that story next (read as: today), so don't worry. Also, I treasure every review. Just saying._

_Yours,_

_The still-single-for-another-week Delilah_


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